A Lesson In House Building
by thatrockyhorror
Summary: After a long night out celebrating, Sherlock finds himself hungover and having to deal with the drunken shenanigans of Jim Moriarty who just doesn't want to call it a night. Oneshot/Fluff/Sheriarty/SherlockXMoriarty


"Uuuugh"

A soft grumble muffled from the top of the bed where Sherlock stirred restlessly, slowly emerging from the covers that hid his deeply sunken eyes.

"Wh-what time is it?" he groaned hoarsely.

Carelessly reaching over across the pile of empty bottles he grabbed his phone which had been steeping in a puddle of abandoned dregs, knocking not 1, but 2 glass bottles to the floor. Sherlock winced in pain as the hard glass shards viciously shattered across the cold wooden floor.

"Time you helped me finish this" came a voice from the corner of the room. Jim was sat slouched against the wall, he held two cards between his hands and was sloppily trying to build a house of cards.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock sighed rubbing his hands against his eyes.

"I am building a house of cards, I thought you were clever - you should be able to deduct that from the deck of cards arranged sufficiently in front of me" Jim looked up to the haggard looking man that stared down at him, not realising that as he spoke he had knocked down his castle of cards with one reckless arm gesture. Sherlock looked lovingly down at his drunken mess that had obviously not been to bed yet. "Well it might work a little better when you're sober" he remarked and giggled quietly to himself, only to regret it immediately as he was painfully reminded of his prominent lingering nausea.

"Boring" he scoffed and pouted as he noticed his masterpiece was now in ruins. As Jim leaned over to pick up his things, the combination of his over-eagerness and his highly intoxicated state resulted in his feeble frame smacking hard against the floor. He lay there for a while contemplating whether or not he could build up the deck from this new unusually comfortable position and muttered incoherently into the floor. Through fits of held back laughter Sherlock managed to carefully make his way to Jim's side, making sure not to step on any of the brown shards of glass.

"Please tell me you haven't managed to get any glass in that pretty little face of yours" Gently placing his arms around Jim's shoulders he pulled him upright to inspect the damage, "We wouldn't want that now would we?" Glad to see that his face was still as beautiful as he has always remembered, Sherlock lightly kissed the top of Jim's forehead and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. Jim brought his own hands up to meet the rough but comforting palms of the man who held him and stole a drunken moment with his lips.

"I was telling you to come join me on the floor, we could have fallen asleep like that" he moaned "But you moved me and I'll never be comfortable ever again" Sherlock noticed how badly Jim was slurring his words and couldn't help but smile. Despite the pounding sensation in his head that seemed to scream at him every-time he moved, he mustered up the strength to carry his consulting criminal to his side of the bed, "I wouldn't be so sure now" he grinned.

As Jim rolled out of Sherlock's muscular, protective arms and onto the cold uninviting bed he shivered. "I'm right, this just won't do" he murmured while nuzzling his face into the crumpled pillow.

"I'm glad because I'm awake now and I won't be best pleased if you fall asleep any time soon" Sherlock tucked in the duvet to comfort him "I don't want you to get cold, that's all." Jim looked up at him with hunger in his eyes "This bed isn't just there for sleeping you know" he smirked.

As he straightened himself out, Sherlock realised that something wasn't quite right; his face flushed, his feet began to buckle and his head began to spin.

"Shit" he muttered as he sprinted to the bathroom, dodging more empty bottles, the clothes from the night before alongside an assortment of magazine and newspaper cutouts. When he reached the bathroom he let his hangover get the better of him, feeling nothing but regret and disgrace. "How did this happen?" he cried out "I calculated how much we could drink without this happening, did you slip us something?" his cries were drowned out by the sound of last nights celebrations making a sudden re-appearance.

Sherlock dusted himself down and slowly dragged himself back into the bedroom, his shirt had been removed and he held it limply in one hand.

"I know I'm probably not the most appealing right now, but if you still want-" he trailed off looking down at the bed. Jim had fallen asleep, his face rested on the edge of his pillow, his body curled up beneath the duvet. He was snoring ever so slightly.

Sherlock smiled, falling in love all over again.


End file.
